


All Things Grow

by slapshots



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Past Character Death, angst and fun stuff, bros, just good stuff man, slightly unresolved feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slapshots/pseuds/slapshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor could pinpoint the exact moment his life went spiraling downwards, but he could also pinpoint the exact moment when his life punched him in the face and told him that he needed to wake up, that the world wasn’t stopping to wait for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Things Grow

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled upon this old fic I wrote a few years back, and it's still great so I decided to bring it over here :)

Vancouver was a hockey city. With their mediocre AA baseball team and the lack of the Vancouver Grizzlies, the Canucks were their team, and Taylor had been so fucking excited to play for them – to play with Naslund, the Sedins - the Canuck  _greats_ , yeah? But that was the problem: they were a hockey city. He couldn’t get away from the cameras, the media, the people inquiring,  _how are you holding up, Pysie?_ and he knew that if he stuck around in Vancouver, he’d go fucking insane. The Canucks didn’t resign him, and he had a fresh start in Phoenix, where hockey wasn’t something many people paid attention to, and it was exactly what he needed.

Taylor could pinpoint the exact moment his life went spiraling downwards, but he could also pinpoint the exact moment when his life punched him in the face and told him that he needed to wake up, that the world wasn’t stopping to wait for him.

His life, however, was Paul Bissonnette, who literally punched him in the face and told him that he needed to wake up, and that the world wasn’t stopping to wait for him.

-

Taylor sat in his stall in the Coyotes’ locker room, taping up his sticks, when a particularly loud-mouthed agitator walked in through the doors. Paul Bissonnette was somebody he had heard of, who he had played against, but they never had actual face-to-face conversations.

-

_“You fourth liner piece of shit, I’ll knock you out if you try that shit again. It’s a fucking exhibition,” Taylor had said after a slash that hadn’t been called as he skated up to Biz, bending low to get ready for the face-off, and Biz, in his white-and-pale-yellow Penguins uniform, had grinned and said,_

_“You gonna punish me, Pyatt? Careful, I might like it.”_

-  
  
...Well, besides  _that_ one.

As Taylor thought back to that Canucks-Penguins game, he had an obvious frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed, and Paul Bissonnette spotted him and walked over. Taylor didn’t notice him until he sat down beside him and threw an arm around his shoulder and said,

“Hey, bud, we’ll be best friends, okay?” And Taylor just shrugged him off and offered a smile. Plenty of guys were wary about him, of course, what with his reputation both on and off the ice, but the thing was, Biz  _knew_ he was a sleaze. He  _knew_ that he fucking sucked at hockey, and that his role wasn’t one that required skill that he didn’t have. He was good at pissing people off, and fighting, and that was all that he did, and it was effective.

Taylor just couldn’t figure him out.

The first time Paul asked him to come out with him on a Friday night to pick up some ‘honeys’, as he called them, Taylor had politely declined and Biz shrugged, said that he needed to grab life by the tits, and went out with half the team instead.

He also declined the next five times he asked.

-

“What’s the deal with Pysie?” Paul shouted over the music as he leaned over to talk to Doan, who leaned closer before pulling back and raising his eyebrows.

“What d’you mean?” he asked, picking up his beer. “His fiancée died. You expect him to want to go out every Friday, checking out chicks? I don’t fuckin’ think so.” Doan shook his head as he took a swig.

“You’re a married man, and you’re out with me on a Friday night, checking out chicks,” Paul protested, and Shane tapped his watch.

“And I have to be home by eleven. Wife’s orders.” He polished off his beer and slid out of their booth to grab a cab, and Biz pursed his lips, watching him go.

“I’m gonna get Pysie laid,” he said to no one in particular, but Fiddler had heard him and he was shaking his head, along with Hanzal, and Bryz.

“I don’t condone this,” Yandle stated.

“It is like nuclear warfare. It is seeming like a good idea, but once it has all gone boom, poof. It is not good idea after all. It is the worst,” Bryz said, and all the guys just kind of looked at him and downed their drinks.

“If I can’t get him laid, might as well go get me laid,” Paul sighed, and he stood up and disappeared.

-

Paul fucked around a lot. He got off track when he was trying to be all bff with Pysie, just because the guy was so easy to fuck with. He would stick candy in his gloves, or stuff wet face towels in his skates, and he’d hide his clothes and he would  _never_ get tired of seeing Taylor’s face each time he realized he had been pranked. His eyebrows would furrow, his nose would scrunch up in slight confusion, and he’d look around the locker room to see who had the most trouble keeping a straight face and it was always, always,  _always_  Biz. Then his eyes would go all soft and he’d roll them. He’d take the towels or candy out, throw it in his general direction but never quite at him, and he’d quietly continue getting ready.

So instead of focusing on being Pysie’s bff, Paul found himself focusing more on just trying to get under his skin. Nobody seemed to be able to do it, and that just fascinated him. The only things that seemed to annoy him was when Paul talked about ‘that chick he banged last night’, but Yandle had said that it was because Taylor  _respected women_  (and yeah, okay, more power to him, but all the chicks that Paul banged were worth talking about, and it was locker room talk, so Pysie could shove it), and the other thing that annoyed him was when Biz pushed him, asking him to go out drinking because maybe he’d get lucky!

-

_Once he got so annoyed, that he actually clipped Biz and flipped him up and over into their bench during practice._

_“I don’t, want to,” he said rather fiercely, and he skated away, and Paul stopped asking._

-

It wasn’t that Paul was inconsiderate or insensitive to the subject, of course he wasn’t, but it was heading into the  _2011 season_ , and as far as anyone on the team knew, Taylor spent his weekends at home, working out and watching Gossip Girl.

And really, Paul only found out that last part because he accidentally picked up Taylor’s phone on their bench in the locker room instead of his and found:

_I really hope dan and blaire work out_

_Pysie are u kidding me chuck and blaire are eternal_

_No way thats a fucked up relationship what do u know_

_Way more than u_

So Paul concluded that Pysie spent his weekends working out and watching Gossip Girl. Against his better judgement, Paul opened up the text message, bringing him to his conversation with Trevor and he maybe had a weird sensation in his stomach because, holy shit, he was staring at an actual text conversation that Taylor had with Trevor Linden.

_Hey bud how u doing?_

_Alright u?_

_I’m good. Yotes good?_

_Yeah_

_They’re a good franchise_

_Haha hockey in the desert for sure_

_Hang in there_

_I’m trying_

And that’s when Taylor walked over to his stall and towered over Paul.

“Sorry, I thought it was m –“ and Taylor just took his phone and walked away. The fact that Taylor was so quiet was what did it for Paul. He never complained about anything. He confronted everything calmly and without any kind of underlying attitude, not even when he was knocked to the ice or if he didn’t like a call that was made. He got up to his feet, shook his gloves off, and went for it.

Paul wanted to find out what made Taylor tick. It had taken him two seasons to just let the big guy do his own thing, but he wanted to change their relationship, and it wasn’t because Taylor was attractive (but yeah, he was a fucking babe, everyone knew it and he was so fucking modest about it), but it was because he was a genuinely good person, and Paul needed a bit of that in his life. All he needed in his life of sin was him and his best friend, and maybe Taylor wasn’t his best friend yet, but. You know. He would be.

For weeks, Paul tried to buddy up with Taylor, only to be gently nudged to the side and when he asked Yandle why that was, he just shrugged and said some shit about how they were too different, and Paul thought, fuck that, and began observing Taylor a little bit more. He noticed that he always looked up to the ceiling of every arena they stepped into before skating out onto the ice. He knew that he kept a picture of him and Carly on his bedside table in Phoenix, and that he had a picture of her on his phone, still. Whenever they were roomies on the road, Paul saw that Taylor only slept on one side of the bed with one unused pillow hugged to his chest with one arm with the other draped delicately over it.

As October progressed, it slowly became less about himself, and more about Taylor.

-

Something was up, and Taylor knew it. Biz backed up off of him significantly, and it was driving him a little nuts. He had gotten used to the chirping, the pranking, the wet willies on the plane, the penises on his face during a long flight, but Biz wasn’t pulling any of that. Well, he wasn’t pulling any of it on  _him_ , anyway – poor Oliver Ekman-Larsson got the shit end of that stick.

In fact, Taylor got so bored, that he rolled up a tape ball at the end of a practice and threw it at Biz. Apparently, Taylor was boring and no fun at all, and that mere tape ball shocked  _everyone_ , and Shane sat down beside Taylor, placed a hand on his shoulder, and he asked if he was okay.

And, well, that kind of ticked Taylor off.

Sensing that Taylor was a little bit annoyed, Biz collected tape from everyone, sat down on the hood of his car and he launched them at Taylor as he tried to drive out of the parking lot.

“How dare you try to have fun, you sick bastard, there are people suffering!” he screamed after him as Taylor ripped out of the parking lot, and he grinned, because Taylor thrust his arm out of his window, the middle finger high above the roof of his car.

-

The next week was a game in Vancouver, and whenever they played in Vancouver, Taylor was quiet. Well, to be fair, he was always quiet, but there was just something about him that changed each time that they walked into Rogers Arena. His posture stiffened, his face hardened, and he didn’t talk to anyone.

Well... Paul learned the hard way that Vancouver was the one city that Taylor couldn’t be distracted in.

-

**_2010_ **

_Paul sat down on his lap in the locker room. Taylor gently pushed him off._

_Paul skated towards Taylor by the bench and he poked him with his stick. Taylor gave him a glowering look._

_Paul talked about how hot the chicks were in Vancouver. Taylor’s eye twitched._

_Paul made a comment about how gay Pavel Bure was._

_Taylor grabbed onto the front of his jersey, threw him into the boards, and told him to shut the fuck up._

-

“Hey.” Paul looked up, surprised that Taylor was the one that had initiated the conversation. He glanced to his left to see if he was talking to Oliver, but he wasn’t at his stall yet.

“Hey,” he replied as he pulled on his shoulder pads, and Taylor did the same, apparently not expecting to say much else. “Hey,” Paul repeated, and Taylor looked up at him. Paul reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezed once, then he let go and continued suiting up.

Paul didn’t play that game, but every time Taylor skated back to the bench, he walked through the line and sat down beside him, and he did that every single game after that.

-

Taylor noticed that something was a little weird with Paul when they went on an east coast road trip in November, from Tampa all the way up to Boston. He didn’t sit beside Taylor like he usually did, and he even had his headphones plugged into his iPad instead of blasting his shitty techno. Taylor tilted his head to the side, watching him for a few seconds until Oliver asked if he was okay, and he lifted his head to look up at the rookie, looking at him over the top of his seat and he gave him a smile and a thumbs up.

“Hey, drinks tonight?” someone up front called out over his shoulder, and a few guys chimed in with their ‘fuck yeah’s and other agreements, and everyone fell silent when Biz said that he wanted to sleep early.

“What?” Taylor blurted out, and then suddenly everyone’s gaze went from Paul to him. Even Biz looked up from his iPad and took an ear bud out, cocking an eyebrow at Taylor. “Uh. I’m in?” And Oliver leaned away from Taylor, eyes narrowing at him, because Taylor didn’t go out, and the forward shrugged his shoulders. “It’s been a while,” he said, pulling his headphones over his head and he turned his music on, and he left it at that.

They touched down in Tampa and went straight to their hotel, and of course Taylor was with Paul. Coach was determined to have them make nice, or something, so Taylor was always stuck with him. It wasn’t that he had any kind of problem with Biz, they were just... so different.

“So you’re not coming out tonight, eh?” he asked Biz, who looked over from his bed and laughed.

“So you’re going out tonight, eh?” he responded, and the corner of Taylor’s mouth quirked up in a smirk before he lifted his shoulders in another shrug.

“It’s been a while,” he repeated, and Biz scoffed. Taylor ignored his quiet ‘I’ll say’ and he tugged off his shirt and sweats, changing into a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. “Probably won’t be out too late. I’ll be quiet coming in, since you know, you’re getting an early night’s sleep and all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul sighed, waving his hand and he disappeared into their bathroom. Taylor had just closed the door behind him when he heard scuffling from within the room. He waited for a few seconds, leaning against the wall, and Biz burst through, all dressed to go out. “No, I can’t do it, I have to go!” he declared, and Taylor felt himself smile, felt a laugh bubble up and past his lips.

They reached the club and it was even more humid than the weather outside. Bodies were sticky with sweat and alcohol, and the place was crowded. Biz shoved Taylor down into a bar stool along with Oliver (who hadn’t gotten ID’ed and was experiencing his first American club), then he sat between them and ordered their drinks, and Taylor gave him a look, because he hadn’t been out in a while, but he was pretty fucking sure that a shot of 151 was a horrible way to start out the evening. The liquid burned down his throat and he made a face, and Oliver gagged. Paul just took the shot smoothly and whooped and called up for another, while Oliver shook his head profusely and Taylor just blinked, trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

Yandle, Hanzal and Mike Smith joined them a little while later, and Taylor was buzzing. His spirits were high, he was joking around with Oliver and Biz, and the three of them couldn’t help but eye Biz.

“What, you’re gonna blame me for his good time?” he protested, and then he went wide-eyed as Taylor stood up and pulled Mike into a huge hug, mumbling into his neck about how  _proud_ he was of him, how they’d  _definitely_ make the play-offs this year.

“Cut him off,” Keith muttered under his breath to Biz, pointing a menacing finger at him.

Paul ordered a round of tequila instead.

-

_Taylor’s hand brushed over the small of  – Melanie? Melody? Monica? ...Bridget? whatever – the girl’s back and she looked up at him and smiled before turning herself towards him. A confident arm wrapped around her waist to pull her close and Taylor pressed her against him as he opened the door to his hotel room. He felt light-headed as he kissed his way down her neck, and she pulled at his hair while his hands roamed under her tight shirt. He pushed it up as they hit the bed and she hurriedly undid his jeans. He kicked them off and she fell to her knees in front of him and Jesus, that was good, and he told her so. So fucking good. When she came back up, he pinned her to the bed, slid his hand between her legs and watched as her eyes fluttered shut, felt her body arch up into him. She reached for her purse, rolled a condom onto him, and Taylor pushed her further up the bed before he grabbed her thigh, pulled her tight against him and sank into her._

-

Taylor reached over to shut the alarm off, and he laid in bed for a few moments longer, listening to the steady breathing of Paul in the other bed. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily before he pulled himself up to a sitting position, letting the blanket fall around his naked waist, and he leaned back against the headboard of his hotel bed, bringing his knees up and resting his elbows on top of them. He turned to look at the rumpled sheets on the left side of his bed and he grabbed a handful of the blanket, letting his head drop slightly, and he missed it when Biz’s breathing shifted, and when he rolled over to look at Taylor.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry,” Taylor whispered as he pulled his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. When he opened them and looked back to Paul, the other was looking back at him. Taylor braced himself for whatever it was he had to say about the previous night, but Paul... Paul looked kind of  _sad_. He just stood up, gave Taylor a small smile, and went to the bathroom. Taylor didn’t move until Biz got out of the shower, and when he got in, he scrubbed hard at his skin until his hands, arms, and neck were bright red, until he got the smell of whoever the fuck she was off of him. He walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and he refused to meet Paul’s eyes, even though he was just sitting on his bed, staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

Taylor pulled on a pair of underwear, took the towel off, stepped into a pair of shorts and shoes, pulled on a shirt, and left.

“He’s alive!” Shane announced when he got on the bus, and Taylor cracked a smile for his sake before he sank into his usual spot, and he immediately reached for his headphones. He was about to put them on when Oliver’s face appeared over the top of his seat and he jerked back with a quiet ‘ _Je_ sus’, surprised.

“Stop doing that,” he said, eyebrows furrowing, and Oliver apologized before looking over his shoulder, then back at him.

“Did you leave with her?” he asked, and Taylor could tell that he didn’t mean anything by it, that he was just genuinely curious, but the guilt that built in his stomach was a bit too much for him to take.

“Turn around,” was all he said, and Oliver hesitated for a few seconds before he turned around and sat. Paul got on the bus and he sat down beside Taylor, then he pulled out his iPad and began blasting techno music and Taylor had never been so happy to be annoyed.

-

He was a bit different after that, and everybody saw it, though nobody said anything about it. Taylor... acted like he was in Vancouver all the time. He never spoke, he rarely laughed, fuck, his face hardly ever moved at all, and he was intimidating some of the rookies. Besides goal celebrations, practices, and warm-ups, everybody left Taylor alone. They finally made it to Boston and Biz threw a tape ball at him. Taylor caught it before it hit him and stared.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Paul said, walking over to him and taking the tape ball back, and Taylor made a face before he leaned over to finish unlacing his skates. “Hey, I’m serious. It doesn’t have to be anyone else, just you and me. We’ll get dinner.”

“Paul, are you asking me out on a date?” he asked, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You caught me, I just found out how easy you are, so I figured I’d give it a shot,” Biz said, shrugging, and at that, the few guys that were talking around them turned to see what Taylor would do, because nobody had brought that up since it happened. To their relief, Taylor laughed quietly and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else. The crew packed up their gear and headed out, and Taylor walked back to the bus with Biz.

“Fine, dinner,” he agreed, holding out a fist, and Biz grinned before he bumped it with his own. “You’re paying, I’m not putting out.”

“I just have to whip out the Jose Cuervo and we’re in business, baby, I know your kryptonite.”

Biz got a bruise from the punch to his gut and it stayed with him for about a week and a half.

-

Christmastime rolled around, and neither Taylor nor Paul made it back to Ontario for their family reunions, so they spent it together. Paul let himself in Taylor’s place and made his way down the hall to his room, holding a paper bag from McDonalds, all ready to wake him up, but he heard that he was already awake and Skyping with his brother.

“How’s Christmas in the desert?” Tom asked, and Paul could hear the smirk in his voice. Taylor laughed.

“It’s hot. How’s the family?”

“They’re good. Everyone’s good. They wish you could come out, though – me, not so much.”

“You’re a dick.”

“It takes one to know one.”

“I hooked up with a girl,” Taylor blurted out, and there was silence in the room for a bit and Biz shifted from side to side.

“How was that?” Tom asked, and they were talking about it like it was a mega serious subject and that... Paul just wasn’t used to something like  _hooking up_ being spoken about like it was a presidential campaign.

“Uhh,” Taylor dragged out, and then he sighed, and Paul heard a dull ‘thud’ as Taylor propped his elbows up on his table. “I don’t know. Weird.” Paul took out a hash brown and began munching on it. “I didn’t even kiss her, dude, I felt – it wasn’t... right.”

“Nothing is ever going to feel right if you keep dwelling,” Tom said, and yes, Paul wanted to kiss the younger Pyatt’s feet.

“I can’t help it, Tom.”

“It’s been two and a half years, you can still take your time. I don’t want you beating yourself up over this, man. Shit happens. Maybe next time, the girl will matter. Or guy?” And Tom lilted the end of the sentence in a question.

“Merry Christmas, I hate you.”

“Love you too, bro. I’ll catch you later.” Biz hurried back down the hall as he heard Taylor’s laptop close and when Taylor went into the kitchen, Paul was sitting up on the counter. He nudged the bag in his direction, which contained a half-eaten hash brown and a sausage and egg mcmuffin.

“I brought you Christmas breakfast. I was robbed by a prostitute last night, so it was all I could afford. Also, the prostitute was your mom.”

And then Paul felt like shit, because Taylor tossed a wrapped present on the table.

“Is this for me?” he asked, and then Taylor opened his pantry and got the coffee, scooping some grinds into his coffee maker and turning it on.

“Yeah, asshole, it’s for you.”

And then Paul felt like diarrhea, because when he unwrapped the box and opened it up, he found the nicest leather jacket he had ever seen.

“It’s, uh. It’s John Vervatos. Merry Christmas,” Taylor said as he reached up to scratch the back of his head.

“Fuck you,” Paul said, bringing his eyes up to Taylor’s and the other looked startled for a moment, so Paul continued. “I buy you a McDonald’s breakfast, and you buy me a fucking leather jacket by John Vervatos?”

“I, uh –“

“Jesus Christ, and I even  _ate_ half of your hash brown, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Biz, it’s not a big deal, I mean –“

“No, fuck you!”

“I don’t even like hash browns –“

“Who the fuck doesn’t –“

“- do you want the other half?” Biz grew quiet and stared at Taylor, hands in front of him and he slouched down as he drew in a deep breath.

“Fuck you!” Paul exploded again, because Jesus  _Christ_ , he wanted to give Biz the other half of his hash brown after giving him a fucking John Vervatos leather jacket. “Who does that? Stop, just stop!” And Taylor was reduced to a confused, stuttering mess as Paul stood up and held the jacket out in front of him, just staring at it. “What’d I do to get this?” he asked, eyebrows knotting together as he looked back to Taylor, and he shrugged his shoulders and got all quiet.

“I dunno. You were a friend,” he said, and Paul fell silent with him before pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Hey, Merry Christmas,” he said, and Taylor pulled back from him and grinned, rising to his full 6-foot-fucking-four.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas.”

Later that night, they got together with the Doan family for Christmas dinner, and Taylor drove because he figured that Paul wanted to get wasted some time between their arrival at the Doan household and the end of the evening. To his honest surprise, Paul didn’t touch a drop of liquor that night. The only time he did was when they went back to Taylor’s apartment and walked up to the roof, out of their dress pants and button-up shirts that they had worn to dinner, and in pairs of shorts and sweats. Taylor cracked open a beer as he sat on the floor of the roof, handed it to Paul, then he opened one for himself and took a long drink from it.

“Long day,” he commented, and Paul sat down beside him.

“But it was a good day, eh?” he asked, nudging Taylor with an elbow, and he smiled and shrugged.

“Yeah, sure.” Another silence washed over them as they drank their beers and Taylor rested his up on his leg, placing one finger on the rim and twirling it around. Paul leaned back on his elbows and just watched the bottle as Taylor spun it, then he moved to lie down on his back to stare up at the cloudless sky.

Taylor left his side and went to stand at the side of the building, overlooking the city of Phoenix underneath him as he nursed his beer and Biz turned his head to look at his silhouette. There had been a few nights like this, of just the two of them drinking in one of their apartments or hotel rooms, because Paul stopped going out and opted to stay in with Taylor instead, but Biz knew that the rooftop wasn’t a place that Taylor liked to share with many people. All he did up there was think, according to Oliver. Think and drink.

“I really fucking miss her, Paul.”

Biz sat up then and he could feel his chest and stomach tightening. He didn’t know how that felt, to lose someone like that, Jesus, but he could feel a sliver of the anguish Taylor felt, and that sliver ripped through him.

“We wanted kids. We were planning it already. We were gonna get married in August, work on a kid, I’d spend another year in Vancouver and we’d get a nice place in Kitsilano, down in the West End. A condo in Yaletown for game days and a house in Kits, it was gonna be good. After injuries, I would’ve played back on the first line with the Sedins, second line with Kes and Burrows, hey,” Taylor let out a humourless laugh and Paul finally got up to his feet to join him at the edge of the roof. “Maybe I would’ve struck a multi-year deal with them.”

“You can still have kids and play for a great franchise, bud,” Biz said softly, bringing an arm up and around Taylor’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze, and Taylor just shook his head once, downing the rest of his beer.

“I see her everywhere. I can’t get away from her. I think about her all the time, before games, after games, before I go to bed, when I wake up, it’s just – it’s  _hell_. It’s been nearly three years and she won’t let me go. The moment I consider someone, the  _second_ the idea starts sounding good –“ Taylor cut himself off and he shrugged his shoulders, leaning over the ledge.

“Stop thinking,” Paul suggested, shrugging as he joined him, elbows propped up on the ledge. “If it’s right, then it should come natural. Nobody’s forcing you to move on, Pysie, and nobody can rush that. It’s gotta be in your own time.”

“I’m not getting any younger,” he replied lowly, and Paul rolled his eyes.

“Buddy, you’re thirty years old. You’ve got years ahead of you. If you’re forty-five and single, then come to me and we’ll talk.”

Taylor drank seven more beers in half the time it took Paul to polish off three more and he had to be helped down the stairs and back to his penthouse. When Biz got Taylor through the door, Taylor leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips before stumbling down the hall to his room, closing the door behind him and Biz turned around and left.

Taylor smelled like Irish Spring and Old Spice.

Paul smelt it for days.


End file.
